They hurried down the stairs as men awoke to the smell of smoke. “Quickly, out of the building. There’s a fire. Everyone outside and form a bucket line.” Shouts of panic and commands that were ignored by one and all echoed through the halls. Vundas dodged and bullied his way out of the building and into the night.
* * *
Merchant Gelstan was seated in a wooden chair. His hands and legs were tied, and his bare feet were propped up in a low stool. “Now, again. Why did you attack us, and how do we get rid of your demon?”
“I keep trying to tell you, it wasn’t us!” Gelstan cried. He was sweating profusely in fear of what he knew was coming. “We didn’t attack you. We didn’t hire a Mage to attack you. The Mage I hired said that a daemon attacked you. We weren’t behind it.”
“Liar!” Cordor shouted as he swung a flat board against the bare soles of Gelstan’s feet. Gelstan screamed as the pain shot through his body.
“I am telling you the truth!” Gelstan gasped out. “It wasn’t us.” He began sobbing until the board again slammed against his feet.
* * *
Merchant Gelstan’s body was found hanging in a warehouse office. His hands and feet had been cut off, and his tongue had been ripped from his mouth. The Merchants declared real war against the Draymen and Brewers now. Gangs of Merchant thugs rioted through sections of town where the Brewers lived. Women and children died in the streets as men fought over the right to collect extortion money from the city.
Drake was sickened by everything he was seeing. I never dreamed I was starting a turf war among the clans. But that’s what I did. I have to try and stop this.
The daemon stalked the night again, only this time he was careful to attack only those who were out attacking others. Brewers, out for revenge against the Merchants. Merchants out for revenge against the Brewers and Draymen. Drake slaughtered the men he found attacking women and children in at least a dozen different places. His teeth and claws tore flesh and bone, but nothing he did stopped the carnage.
The city of Port Royal was bleeding to death. Commerce had stopped because of the violence. People were afraid to venture out of their homes to visit the markets. Farmers remained out in the countryside watching their produce rot because they didn’t dare enter the city. More than two thousand men, women, and children had died, and still the fighting continued. Drake sat in his room, considering his options. I caused this, and everything I’ve tried to stop it has failed. It is time for drastic measures.
Drake purchased a horse and prepared to leave. Mistress Stienmetz nodded knowingly as he loaded his saddlebags onto the animal. “I didn’t think you would stay, Laird Drake. It will be years before the city returns to normal. If I had the means, I would be leaving as well.” She turned away before he could answer, and shut the door.
Drake rode hard out of town. He had a long way to go, and not long to get there. As darkness fell, he tied the horse to a tree and stripped. He removed the saddle and the saddlebags, stashing them with his clothes. Someone was going to be rich when they found his things.
He transformed back into Amberdrake, and had his accustomed snack of fresh horse meat. Launching himself into the air, he returned to Port Royal with the sun. The people saw him coming and panic spread through the city. The warring factions fled to their homes, forgetting their grievances for the moment. Landing in the center of the city, he simply sat and looked about.
Fire had gutted dozens of buildings. Whole blocks had fallen, and bodies lay unburned in the streets. In a cleared space he saw his chance to implement his plan. He created an illusion of the daemon, and attacked it with a roar.
Hundreds watched as the golden dragon fought the black daemon. He made the illusion fast, and controlled it so that his fight lasted for a long time. In the end, of course, the daemon went down and Amberdrake scorched the earth with his fire, burning the ground so thoroughly that the sand melted into glass. He raised his head and roared with triumph, then launched himself back into the air.
Amberdrake’s theatrics calmed the city, though there were still isolated cases of violence. The Prince of the City called on his cousins, the King and Queen of Sargash, for aid, and troops were dispatched to help maintain the peace.
Slowly, the city returned to normal, though there were a few changes. The Brewers were gone. The Merchants had absorbed what was left of them, proving to some that they had been behind the attacks all along.
* * *
Master Mage Sahrendas watched everything from her cave, high in the mountains. Amberdrake’s performance had been laughable, though the people who had seen it believed every fake roar. No daemon could stand for a second against a dragon, even a small one. And Amberdrake, all one hundred and eighty glorious feet of him, was not a small dragon.
Sahrendas began laughing and swirling her robe around herself. In moments she had transformed. Her green and gold scales glistening in the sun, Sahrendrake roared with laughter. Her mate was growing up. Soon it would be time for her to head to the desert and lay their eggs. But until then, she would keep an unobtrusive eye on him. After all, he was the most powerful mage that had ever lived. Even more powerful than her own sire.
Our children will be magnificent!
* * *
Rochelle grinned at Drake and said, “You were one of those boys who threw rocks at beehives, weren’t you?”
“Only once,” Dark admitted with a grin. “If the stings hadn’t been enough to keep me from doing it again, the belt my father took to my butt would have. Had to work my rest-days for three months for the beekeeper. Got a big jar of honey for my mom, though.”
Mellody was reduced to giggling incoherence as she looked at her husband.
Adventure 6
Children
AMBERDRAKE SAILED THE SKIES OVER the Brondian Continent, content with his life for the moment. Another mating season had passed, and Sahrendrake and three other females carried his eggs. He had learned a great deal from the past hundred years.
The land below him was resplendent with spring, and he marveled at the changes that had occurred since the last time he had passed this way, on his first trip east. A kingdom had expanded into these lands, and roads crossed lands that had once known only deer and elk. Now bison and sheep, goats and pigs, all the animals man cultivated for his own uses roamed the meadows and forests. Man, in all his arrogance, was master of the world. Or so they thought.
Sliding into a low glide, Amberdrake dropped slowly toward a meadow, intending to snack on some ragged bison that were browsing on the early grass. Dropping over the trees, he had grabbed and pierced two bison before the sound of human screams reached him. Looking ahead, he saw a woman and two children near the tree line.
The woman was down, and the children were trying to drag her to the trees. He backwinged and dropped his catch, then circled around for a closer look. Landing, he regarded them curiously as they continued to scream.
The woman looked up at him with terror in her expression and cried, “Run! You’re not strong enough to save me, but you can save yourselves. Run! Leave me and run. Hide! Split up and don’t look back!”
The eldest, a girl of about eight, looked at her mother and screamed, “No, Mama! We won’t leave you.”
“You have to! He’ll eat us all if you don’t.” The woman pushed at her daughter’s hands, but the dragon was on them.
“Please stop screaming,” Amberdrake said softly, folding his foreclaws over his stomach. “I intend you no harm.”
The woman screamed, “Go away!” but Amberdrake simply sat and stared at her. He was impressed by the woman, both by her courage and her beauty.
“I will. In time, I will go. For now, please be at ease. I do not, as a rule, eat humans.” Looking closer, he could see a raw wound on her leg. “How were you injured?”
“What do you care?” the older girl shouted, stepping in front of her mother.
“I am curious.”
The woman grabbed her daughter’s dress and pulled
her back. “I stepped in a trap.”
Nodding his understanding, Amberdrake used a small fraction of his power and invoked a healing spell. The woman stiffened as pain assaulted her. The spell shucked away dead and diseased flesh, knitted the bone together, restrung the tendon, then closed the wound. In the blink of an eye her leg was whole and healthy. “There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She was recovering from the effects of the spell, and blinked rapidly. “How?—Why did you do that?”
“I will see no creature suffer.” Invoking his magic once again, Amberdrake transformed into his human shape. “Especially not such a lovely creature as yourself.”
The woman looked at the man who stood in the dragon’s footprints. He was young, twenty at the most, but a man in every detail. He had clothed himself in cloth of gold and amber, reflecting his coloring as a dragon. She watched as he approached her, too shocked to be afraid.
“I am Drake Standralson,” he said with a slight bow.
“Evin Winterhaven,” the woman replied automatically as she stood, gingerly putting pressure on her leg, and sighing when it didn’t hurt. “These are my daughters, Shena and Fran, Lord Drake.”
Drake looked at Evin and her daughters. Shena echoed her mother’s brown hair and eyes, while Fran was a four-year-old carrot top with green eyes. Drake said, “I am pleased to meet you all,” as he bowed to Evin and her daughters. “You are a great distance from the nearest town. Is there a reason, or are you simply traveling?”
“We are fleeing the rebellion, Lord Drake. I have family in Whitehall who will take us in.” Evin was watching him with large, frightened eyes.
Shrugging, he looked around. “Are you hungry?” he asked, changing the subject.
Evin was taken by surprise by the sudden change, but Fran wasn’t. “Yes! We haven’t eated in days and days.”
“Eaten,” Drake corrected gently, then turned to look back the way he had come. A whispered spell levitated the bison he had killed and brought them to his side. Another spell butchered the carcasses. Evin had already laid a fire, ready to light, and he lit it with a gesture. “Do you have a pot?”
Shena turned and grabbed a battered copper kettle, handing it to her mother. “Will this do?” Evin asked timidly.
Drake nodded and diced a large chunk of one of the bison into the pot. Placing it over the fire, he scanned the area. Evin and her daughters had collected a number of young wild onions and carrots, and he suggested that they would go well with the bison. Evin immediately began peeling and slicing the vegetables into the pot, and Shena grabbed their water bag to add to it once the meat was seared.
Evin brought out two bowls, and three spoons, then looked up at Drake, suddenly stricken. “Lord Drake, forgive us, but we only have two bowls.”
Drake looked at her curiously, then looked around. Where he had landed were a scattering of his scales, five in all. “Fran, would you collect those scales and bring them over here? Be careful, they’ll be hot.” While the child did as he asked, he picked up a tree limb that had been gathered as firewood. Focusing his will upon it, he shaped four good wooden spoons, then tossed the remains into the fire. When Fran returned, he took the scales and looked at them closely. He had never thought to do anything with his scales before, and was unsure of his next step.
The scales were large and brightly polished. Focusing his will, he began reshaping the scale from a concave, oval platter into a deep, oval bowl. When he was happy with the first, he repeated the procedure on the others and soon presented Evin with five golden bowls.
“These should do.”
Evin was wide-eyed with shock. He had simply accepted her statement and made his own bowls and spoons, and more for her and the girls as well. Swallowing convulsively, she took the bowls and nodded her thanks, not trusting her voice.
Drake sat still and regarded the woman carefully. He guessed her age between twenty and twenty-two, and her ragged clothes spoke of poverty. Her daughters were in little better shape, their clothes being more patches than whole cloth, and he felt a stab of pity. Even the poor in Chanders had dressed better than Evin, especially in the cold seasons. He determined that he would do something about their clothes at least before he went on his way.
The smell of the stew soon distracted him, and Evin spooned out bowls full, serving Drake first. Drake took the bowl, caressing Evin’s hands as he did so. She looked into his eyes, then quickly looked away. He did not pursue her any further. He was not in need of release. Mating with Sahrendrake had left him barely interested in the other dragons. While Evin was beautiful, he was not in the mood to pursue her. If she came to him later, then so be it.
Evin and the girls ate quickly, their hunger obvious to Drake. When they had finished a bowl each, Evin offered him a second bowl before she would serve her daughters. “No, thank you. You go ahead.” Evin looked at him, then quickly served the girls and herself. The sky was darkening, and Drake found the idea of leaving unpleasant. There was a homey, easy feeling to sitting by the fire with Evin and her daughters that he found comforting.
“Evin, I will be staying the night before I fly on. Do you have a tent?”
Evin looked up when he spoke, her eyes wide. Men of power were to be feared at the best of times, and these were not the best of times for her. “No, Lord Drake. All we have is our blankets.”
Drake nodded and looked to the forest. His eyebrows drew together as he built a shelter for the night, building four beds into the walls. He magically cured the hides of the bison for pads, and filled the beds with fresh pine boughs. “This will be more comfortable than the ground.”
Evin seemed suitably impressed by his use of magic. She bowed her head and said, “Thank you, Lord Drake.”
Drake nodded and turned away, seeking the bed farthest from the door opening. A flicker of magic made a blanket of the same material as his clothes, and he settled in. Watching Evin and her daughters settle, he noticed that their blankets were in no better shape than their clothes. As they settled, the two girls together sharing their blankets, he made blankets for each of them. Evin looked at him, questions plain in her eyes, but he turned his face to the wall. He would not encourage her, nor ask for her company.
* * *
Evin watched Lord Drake turn away with a slight smile curving his lips. He was so powerful that she feared his reactions to her. That he had not demanded she join him was a relief, though she was still uncomfortable. Settling into her bed, she snuggled into the fluffy material of the blanket, not recognizing it, but not caring. It had been a long, cold winter, and spring had not really warmed up yet. The combination of warmth and a full stomach put her to sleep quickly in spite of her worries over Drake.
* * *
Morning was heralded by the songs of birds in the trees. Drake woke with a start, forgetting for a moment that he was human. Looking about, he saw the empty beds that Evin and her daughters had slept in, and was disappointed. He had hoped to spend at least a little time with them before traveling on. Walking out, he surveyed the meadow. Their trail was clear in the morning dew, but he decided that he would leave them alone. The blankets would help them, as would the meat he was sure Evin had stashed away before they fled. Stripping away his clothes, he transformed and devoured the remainder of the pile of meat before attacking and killing four more bison.
Once his hunger was satisfied, he launched himself into the air, circling in lazy spirals into the morning sky. He spotted Evin and the girls, but didn’t pursue them. Evin was obviously frightened by him, and not simply because he was a dragon. Humans could be far crueler than any other creature. She had said that she was heading toward Whitehall, and he decided to investigate. Perhaps Whitehall would be his home for a time as well. A small town lay two or three days walk to the west, the direction that Evin and her daughters were traveling, and it was only a few moments on wing to the forests outside the town.
Transforming and dressing himself as a moderately successful man, he walked to the
city gate. “Halt where you are. I don’t recognize you.” A guard said from a stool in the sun. “State your business.”
“My name is Drake Standralson, from Chanders in the Darendian Empire. I am traveling about, investigating trade for my father and his associates. What city is this?” Drake stood with his hands clasped in front of him, speaking respectfully to the guard.
“Whitehall. Enter, but be sure to find lodgings by nightfall. There is a curfew one hour past sunset. Be indoors, or be jailed.” The guard turned away from Drake, ignoring him quite thoroughly.
Drake bowed to the guard anyway, then strode boldly into the city. Whitehall was not an impressive place. The city was small, with no more than three thousand inhabitants, and centered around a massive marble quarry. Inns and ale houses were prevalent, though there was evidence that other traders were present, and other industries as well. A lumber mill had its wheels turning in the river current, and Drake could smell a tannery somewhere up wind. Walking down the main street, he looked about for an alley. That there wasn’t any coin in his pouch didn’t bother him. Any group of people this large had thieves, and thieves were his favored prey.
Slipping into the shadows of the first alley he found, he scanned his surroundings. A man crouching by a doorway. A cur cowering under some refuse. The remains of a long-dead man. Everything pointed to a poor city that was getting poorer. One anomaly alone drew his attention. In the midst of the filth, he found gold.
* * *
Banard Granish sat in his hideaway, and counted. He had managed another theft right under the nose of the quarry manager. Right under his nose! Giggling to himself, he counted the golden coins. Thirty now. Thirty, with only six to go before he could buy Anelis. Then she couldn’t reject him. Then she would be his, no matter what she wanted. A flicker of movement was his only warning that he wasn’t alone. Death claimed Banard quickly, spilling his blood on the dirt floor of his hovel.
The daemon sniffed the dead man, then flared briefly to reveal Drake. Looking at the pitiful wretch, he collected the gold from the table, then slipped out the door. No one watched him go. No one cared here, not for Banard. Not for his dreams.
The Chronicles of Amberdrake Page 29
